


Masked Truth

by MelayneSeahawk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Does His Research, Book Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Flirting, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Mild Gore, Naga, Naga Aziraphale, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Shapeshifting, Show Elements, Species-Appropriate Flirting, Trickety-Boo Exchange, halloween party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: Crowley has to go to Hell's Halloween party, as a show of good faith post-Apocanot, and Aziraphale insists on going with him, so a "costume" must be arranged...
Relationships: (Minor), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	Masked Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoulesBurn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesBurn/gifts).



> This is my Trickety-Boo Exchange fill for JoulesBurn, who requested "possession/curse/rescue; mistaken for other supernatural creatures by outsiders; faking being other supernatural creatures for hijinks; A or C banned from Halloween celebrating for being Over The Top"; I played kind of fast and loose with these prompts, but I hope you like it! I'm hoping to complete the fic in the next couple of days, but I wanted _something_ posted before end of Spooky Month.
> 
> Title is a reference to the Oscar Wilde quote: "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask , and he will tell you the truth."
> 
> self-betaed, alpha by silver, title help from Crawley, many thanks to Euterpein for putting up with my lack of punctuality

“Crowley, you’ve gone completely round the twist if you think I’m letting you go alone,” Aziraphale said, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest, the strength of his posture slightly broken by the moue of his pout. “We only just got away from our…previous employers, and now they expect you to come to some…office holiday party?”

“It’s supposed to be a demonstration of goodwill,” Crowley said, running a distracted hand through his hair as he paced back and forth on the backroom rug. Aziraphale might have worried about him wearing a track in it, but the rug was so old it was largely held together by Aziraphale’s will anyway. “Show up, glad-hand about, indicate there’s no hard feelings.”

“And you trust them?”

“Of course not,” Crowley scoffed, stopping and turning to look directly at Aziraphale. He’d abandoned his sunglasses at some point, so Aziraphale could see that his eyes were serpent gold from corner to corner, which was a good indicator of Crowley’s stress level. He waved the invitation -- a smudged scrap of parchment with a ragged seal that nonetheless Crowley had insisted Aziraphale not touch -- at the angel. “I’ve never trusted that pack of lunatics, and I’m not going to start now. But you’d be walking into the lion’s den…metaphorically speaking, anyway.”

“Which is precisely why I shan’t let you go alone,” Aziraphale countered, and Crowley sighed, collapsing onto the couch in his usual tangle of limbs. “It’s a Halloween party, yes? Are there costumes?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Crowley said, with a wan, humorless smile. “The dress code is no human-only corporations. True forms -- or variations on them -- only.”

“And what were you planning on…wearing? Is that even the correct word?”

“I was thinking a half-snake, half-human form,” Crowley said, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to rest on the couch cushions.

“Ooh, a naga form, you haven’t worn one of those in  _ ages _ ,” Aziraphale said, a little trickle of excitement running down his spine at the idea, independent of the otherwise fraught circumstances. He’d always loved the sinuous curves of Crowley’s body in that form, the susurration of scales on stone, the strength and power in his thick, muscular tail; and now, with the way things had changed since the failed Apocalypse…

“Easiest form to protect myself in, if things get physical,” Crowley said, with a gravity-defying shrug.

“Then I shall accompany you in a similar form,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley snorted. “What?”

“You rarely shapeshift,” the demon pointed out, laboriously shifting position until he was sitting nominally upright. “And it’s nothing like your true form, so it won’t come naturally to you.”

“You’ve never seen my true form,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“No, but I know what you’d look like,” Crowley said, almost offhandedly. It made a little glow alight in Aziraphale’s chest; the fact that they knew each other so well, inside and out, that Crowley already  _ knew _ what he looked like, without having ever seen it.

“It would likely be seen as an outright threat, if I came in an angelic form,” Aziraphale said, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand, not drift off into daydreams. “If I wore a demonic shape, hopefully they would see it as trying to meet them on their level. Plus, it would reinforce the bluff with the hellfire, our supposed cross-contamination.” Crowley’s expression remained skeptical. “It would require some practice, surely, but we have a few weeks until the event. You could teach me! You’ve always been ever-so-good at transformation.”

Crowley made a dismissive sound, but the way his cheeks took on a splash of color meant that the compliment had landed anyway. “It won’t be easy,” he warned, and Aziraphale internally celebrated his success. Tempting the Tempter was one of his favorite pastimes, though he engaged in it only rarely.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Aziraphale agreed, and Crowley rolled his eyes. “Now, tell me what to do.”

***

Crowley decided to start slow, and had Aziraphale practice adjusting the details of his human corporation first. Over the next few days, between walks in the park and lunches out and evenings in with a glass of wine and something on the telly, Crowley guided him through changing whatever aspects of his corporation he could. Height, weight, primary and secondary sex characteristics, they experimented with them all. He couldn’t do much to change his coloration, particularly his hair and eyes, just like Crowley himself, and he tended to slide toward a plump body unless he really focused on it, but Crowley was secretly pleased that he retained his soft, welcoming shape. Crowley was always glad to see his angel fat and happy -- the few times in the past he hadn’t been had been very trying indeed.

He also encouraged Aziraphale to go back to wearing ‘clothes’ made of raw firmament. It wasn’t that the angel didn’t know how, since that was how it went back in the Bad Old Days when everything was just getting Started, by Aziraphale had always preferred real, tangible textiles as soon as they’d been on offer. Crowley had managed to persuade him by pointing out that it would be an exercise in staying focused on more than just his physical form, and also that it would be a challenge to find real clothing to wear that would work with a snake tail. Aziraphale had grumbled and complied, but the noticeable uptick in the amount of tartan in his outfits was likely some form of obscure retaliation for making him forgo his well-loved linen and velveteen and tweed.

When Aziraphale seemed solid with variations-on-human, Crowley switched focus entirely, turning their attention to non-human, natural shapes. This included snakes, of course -- and Aziraphale made a quite attractive specimen -- but lots of other animals, too, from other scaled creatures to the ones that were closest to Aziraphale’s own true form: lion and ox and eagle and calf, swan and dove and sparrow, and then in the other direction the many-eyed creatures, like spiders and giant clams and monarch butterflies. Aziraphale had more trouble with this, which was not unexpected, but in time he could transition seamlessly from one animal form to another, and lounge about the bookshop in any animal shape for as long as he liked. He still tended toward white and cream and pale blue, no matter what the correct coloring would have been, but that was hardly important. It wasn’t like he’d be trying to blend in.

They went to the Ritz to celebrate, then got down to human _ ish _ transformations in earnest: adding animal anatomy to his human form, from the simple addition of fangs and feathers or scales, to full half-human creatures like centaurs and merpeople and sphinx. Some were more challenging than others, but they gradually moved toward their goal. They had only a week to go by this point, so Crowley pushed hard, not giving either of them much time to rest. If this was truly what Aziraphale wanted -- and it seemed like it was -- they couldn’t slow down for a moment.

***

Finally, less than a week before Halloween itself, it was time for the naga form at last. “I’ll demonstrate first,” Crowley said, “then you follow, alright?” Aziraphale nodded, sure that his nervousness was clear in his posture, but expression resolute. Crowley banished his clothes -- they’d gotten rather used to being nude around each other over the process of the last few weeks, but Aziraphale still had to take a moment to stare at the slim, spare beauty of this of Crowley’s chosen forms -- and then began to  _ change _ .

The changes were subtle at first: fangs beginning to poke between his closed lips, fingernails lengthening into claws, torso becoming even more slim and sinuous. Then the changes began to accelerate, scales marching up his legs as they began to fuse and his Effort retreated, his face becoming a little flatter and wider, ears disappearing entirely. “I like to wear my hair long in this form, but you don’t have to,” he hissed, forked tongue flicking against his lips as his quiff rapidly became a tangle of long emberlight curls.

His height seemed to suddenly shoot up, but it was a result of him resettling into an upright posture above the coils of his tail, now fully formed into a sturdy appendage covered in black and red scales. The scales continued up onto his torso and arms, bands of them running parallel to his ribs and patches like bracers on his forearms. His fingers had gone even longer and thinner than before, but there was a threatening strength to the way he flexed them as the last changes settled, small patches of scales settling around his lidless, serpentine eyes.

Aziraphale stared, taking in all the gorgeous details of this form, which he’d seen only rarely in the six millennia of their acquaintance, and not since humans had largely moved away from believing in creatures such as this. “Focus, angel,” Crowley said with a sly grin, interrupting Aziraphale’s gazing.

“Sorry, my dear, but you’re quite stunning like this,” Aziraphale said, and discovered that even when part-snake, Crowley could still blush. “I had perhaps forgotten the full effect.”

“Well, get on with it,” Crowley said, mock-irritable, but his blush was still visible between the patches of scales on his flattened cheeks and down the pale column of his neck. Aziraphale nodded, dismissed his own clothes back to the aether, and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Aziraphale didn’t know how it felt for Crowley, but to him, transforming was terribly unpleasant, like being squeezed through a tube and coming out as another shape on the other side. Crowley had shown him some monster movies while they’d been practicing, and while it wasn’t as painful as a black-and-white werewolf looked, for example, it was still uncomfortable. To distract himself from the discomfort, he focused on wondering what it would feel like to be pressed skin-to-skin and scale-to-scale with Crowley in these forms, sliding over and around each other. He had, in idle curiosity, been reading up on snake mating practices during his infrequent time alone, while Crowley slept…

“Not bad, for a first try,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale opened his eyes to look down at himself. Bands of white and pale blue scales striped his sides and abdomen, giving way to a massive, muscular tail, the scales a glowing, moonstone white with a faint hint of blue along the underbelly. Most of the hair on his arms and chest had disappeared, and, like Crowley, his hands had changed, palms and fingers lengthening, nails elongating into deadly-looking points.

Crowley slithered around him, examining him from all sides, and some snakey instinct inside of Aziraphale shivered. He hoped it didn’t show in his face or body; it was turning out to be surprisingly hard to ignore his feelings for Crowley when they were in these forms. But it seemed like Crowley was focused on cataloguing the details of Aziraphale’s transformation. “Well, what do I need to change?” he forced himself to say, trying to focus.

“You’re missing scales in a few places,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale jerked when he felt sharp nails tap a few places on his tail that had previously been calf and thigh. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, but Aziraphale shook his head, so Crowley moved on. “And your face is all wrong. Here, let me show you.”

Crowley miracled a large standing mirror into existence, then finished his circling and slid into place beside Aziraphale, the mirror reflecting both of them within its frame. Aziraphale shivered again; much of their tails were pressed together along the floor so they could both be reflected, and he couldn’t help himself from coiling the end of his own around Crowley’s. He either didn’t notice or thought it was unintentional, because Crowley didn’t say anything about it, just started pointing things out in the mirror.

Aziraphale tried to stay focused, but his attention kept being drawn back to how wonderful they looked together. The naga forms balanced out any height difference between them, and, as always, they were a study in contrasts, moonlight pale and midnight black.

“Are you even listening, angel?” Crowley asked irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm sorry, my dear, I’m very easily distracted right now,” Aziraphale said, dragging his attention back once more. “Do repeat that part about the cheekbones, will you?”

With Crowley's guidance, Aziraphale was able to fix the errors in his original transformation, and he got a sense of how to not make those mistakes again. “Alright, it seems like you’ve got the transformation part down, now you have to practice  _ being _ part-snake,” Crowley said, something smug around the tilt of his lips. “Let's go for a meander around the shop.”

They did, and Aziraphale found it amazing how much he could see, even in the dark. Was this how Crowley always saw the world? No wonder he wore those damned sunglasses all the time.

He had a little trouble at first, figuring out how to translate the idea of leg movements to having a tail instead, but Aziraphale found that, if he focused on something else, his body knew what to do. After that revelation, it took on something of the same feeling as when they would walk together in St James's Park, which made Aziraphale smile. A fanciful part of him imagined moseying around the park but in naga form like this, the sun on their scales and a picnic basket ready for when they wanted to rest. Impossible, of course, but what a lovely idea nonetheless.

After an unknowable amount of time, but long enough that the golden light of sunrise had begun peeking through the shop windows and Aziraphale had stopped tripping over the end of his own tail on turns, Crowley stopped, turning to face Aziraphale. “Well, I think this is good, for a start,” he said, raising his arms in a sinuous stretch that rippled down the length of his torso. “Let’s take a break for now, maybe a nap, then pick this up later?”

“That sounds wonderful, my dear,” Aziraphale said, trailing along behind Crowley as he slithered to the back of the shop, at a speed Aziraphale could not yet replicate. He released a slow breath when Crowley changed back to his human-shaped form, complete with clothes; Aziraphale was able to cope with the way that ruffled him, but the naga form was going to take some getting used to. He only had a few days, but hopefully that would be enough. It wouldn’t do to let himself get distracted while in Hell’s clutches; he would be more of a hindrance than a help if he couldn’t get that under control.

“Nap, then breakfast?” Crowley asked, before breaking off to yawn hugely.

“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale said, and closed his eyes so he could focus on nudging his corporation back into its usual shape. “I’ll likely read, so you’re welcome to the bed.” It was a perfectly logical gesture: Crowley intended to sleep, Aziraphale did not, and there was only one bed, so of course Crowley should use it. Aziraphale forced himself to stop imagining Crowley tucked in with his cornflower blue sheets and tartan duvet, to ignore the desire to tuck Crowley in with a kiss on the forehead, or somewhere slightly lower...

Crowley looked at him strangely, his expression unreadable even without his glasses, and then nodded, clicking his fingers to miracle his clothes into pajamas. “See you in a few hours, angel,” he said, mounting the stairs to the flat above before Aziraphale could reply. He stared a little helplessly at Crowley’s retreating back, then forced himself to turn away, hoping to engross himself with a cup of tea and something to read.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/633479790509293568/in-order-to-live-melayneseahawk-good-omens)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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